


10 Ways to Woo Your Boo

by bloodgutsandstarbucks



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Attempted Seduction, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 01:43:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21066704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodgutsandstarbucks/pseuds/bloodgutsandstarbucks
Summary: By twenty-one Peter Parker had graduated college, scored himself a post-grad job and was a full-fledged member of the Avengers.He had his own apartment, paid his own bills and juggled his time between being a superhero and working enough to cover his rent.So long as Peter was armed with his ID, he was a full-fledged adult in the eyes of the law. Perhaps foolishly, he’d assumed it would make him an adult in the eyes of everybody else too.Keen to be seen as worthy of Tony's heart, Peter enlists the help of his friends and the internet in courting his former mentor.





	10 Ways to Woo Your Boo

Peter doesn’t get it. 

He’s done it all. Tried every trick in the book. Done his research, cross-referenced all the data and still: nothing.

What has he been doing _wrong_?

Fumbling for ideas on how to court a modern day billionaire, Peter had even consulted a book. Like an actual hardcopy from a local bookstore. It was called _10 Ways to Woo Your Boo_.

Except, none of the techniques like _show them how available you are _worked, so Peter moved onto womens magazines, flirty articles on seduction techniques, mom blog posts, tumblr posts and reddit threads. In despair he’d even asked his friends for tips, applied them all and _still_ Tony hasn’t looked at him in a way that isn’t infuriatingly paternal.

It started when Peter turned twenty-one. 

He was fresh out of college and had been upgraded to a full-time member of the Avengers. He’d gotten a cushy post-grad job at a research centre and was living out all on his own, in his own crappy apartment with a leaking roof and a poorly tended to, browning bonsai he called Bill perched on the kitchen windowsill.

So long as Peter was armed with his ID, he was a full-fledged adult in the eyes of the law.

Perhaps foolishly, he’d assumed it would make him an adult in the eyes of everybody else too. 

Sure, he was the baby of the team. Still chubby cheeked and bubbly bright - but he’d had as much dirt in his eyes and soul scars as the rest of them, despite his effervescence - and to be fair, the others _had_ shifted their attitudes over the years and abandoned the proverbial kid gloves. It wasn’t just about work - but in life too. No one censored themselves, dubious about his maturity, talking about sex and love and politics, old TV shows and bad habits - like he was just _one of them. _He spoke with Pepper about real estate and Natasha about sex and Rhodey about football over beers and day old pizza.

Peter was finally on par with everyone else.

Everyone except Tony, that is.

Despite Peter’s best attempts at connecting with him on a more adult level, his efforts were never truly reciprocated. Tony only ever offered him fatherly pats on the back and called him various diminutives under paternal umbrellas like _kid, kiddo, squirt _and _spiderling_.

All of Peters vehement objections to the monikers were only met with fond amusement, as if Peter was some cute little puppy trying to play with the big dogs.

Which, kind of stung, if he was honest. 

What exactly did he need to do for Tony to see him as an equal - as somebody worthy of his time?

And maybe somebody worthy of his affection and his heart, too?

It wasn’t that Tony dumbed things down for him or anything - in fact they had a great connection. 

They had similar interests and talked at lengths about them. They discussed politics and policy with their feet knocking each other as they stretched on the sofa, shared articles and videos they thought the other might like and texted each other all the time. On late night drives they spoke of philosophy and movies and grumbled about their work weeks and, importantly, they confided in each other about things they didn’t tell the others. 

It was like all of Peters’ other relationships - except without the intimacy.

So when the cosmic clock chimed Peter into legitimate adulthood and Tony still saw him as the same fifteen-year-old in a onesie, Peter grew desperate.

—-

It wasn’t that Peter waited until a certain age to try and woo his former mentor. 

The stars had just never really aligned. They were both weren’t single at the same time or had other priorities - it just wasn’t the right time. 

Sometimes he thought he saw Tony’s gaze fixed on him longer than was strictly considered platonic, or felt his touch linger longer than necessary. So it seemed maybe, somewhere deep in Tony’s animal brain that he was kind of attracted to Peter, possibly?

Anyway, after a drunken Friday night with his friends and with their encouragement, Peter decided _why not_. It’s now or never. _Just go for it, bro_, Ned had drunkenly cheered. 

Of course he couldn’t ask Tony if he wanted to be more than friends outright. That would only end in humiliation. It seemed like the guy needed a little push to see that Peter was firstly, an adult, and secondly, totally available and _really_ willing.

It started with wearing tighter, more revealing clothing. 

In terms of his research it was the top trending choice.

Like, if maybe Peter’s college diploma weren’t indicative enough of his legality and availability, then maybe the skinny jeans and v-neck would be. Maybe all that was needed was denim that cut off his circulation for Tony to realise that Peter had an ass, an ass that was ready just for him. Peter had thought maybe Tony would quip about it, y’know, like he does with everyone else - but alas, that was not the case.

Instead, all that Tony said was, “I’m not one to lecture on workplace attire, kid, but watch yourself with the solder, yikes.”

Yikes.

Skinny jeans bought and professionally tailored with his savings - and all he got was _yikes_.

But Peter was anything but deterred. Instead, he was charmed by the challenge. So he consulted the books, the papers, the listicles, trying to gather and cross-check all of the information, sorting it into graphs and subheadings - sure all of the evidence was purely anecdotal but that didn’t mean he could graph trends of techniques and their success based on what he’d read and heard. 

So when the tighter clothes yielded little success Peter tried the age old oral fixation route. 

For a good month or two at Avengers meetings and get-togethers Peter indulged in sugary-sweet lollipops, suctioned his lips around straws to suck in soda, even fellated the old popsicle on occasion.

It made a few SHIELD agents short of breath and staff stutter on their words, but Tony? He encouraged Peter to see a dentist before he needed fillings, recommending the best in Manhattan that Tony knew. 

On the house, he said. _Isn’t it time for your wisdom teeth to kick in, kiddo_? He said.

After that marginally humiliating endeavour Peter stopped trying to draw attention to his mouth and found himself debating whether or not to give up entirely.

But Peter was a Parker and Parkers were nothing but a determined, headstrong sort. So he moved on to the next idea. 

—–

“You gotta be like, demure,” May had said when asked about her go-to flirting techniques. “Y’know, cute. Coy. Flutter your eyelashes, be a little _mysterious_. Compliment him. Guys love that kinda stuff.”

_Mysterious_. 

Peter could do that. That seemed right up his alley - he’d been a masked vigilante for nearly a decade, after all.

All he had to do was rein in his natural inclination to be an over-eager puppy around the man of his dreams and play it cool. Be chill.

_Be mysterious_, he thought to himself as he approached Tony in the workshop one Saturday afternoon. 

“Hey there, Pete,” Tony greets, looking up from his station. “Aint you a sight for sore eyes.”

Flushing slightly and barely withholding the urge to gush about his day, Peter just bit his bottom lip and walked with slow purpose towards the older man. _Be cool_.

“_Am_ I a sight for sore eyes?” Peter asks cryptically, letting his fingertips trail over the metal workbench, tilting his head in a way he hoped made him look _mysterious_.

“Uhh, sure, kid,” Tony trails off, giving him a strange look. “How’s things going?”

Peter shrugs, leaning his hip against the workbench. He pouts in a way he hopes draws attention to his mouth and flutters his eyelashes. 

“I don’t know, _Mr. Stark_, hows things going for you?”

Tony frowns. “Uhh, fine? No mortal wounds or stock crashing headlines in the last week, so I call that good. Do you, like, need something?”

“Maybe I do,” Peter smiles, sliding his palm against a phallic shaped tool.

“Oh-_kay_, you feeling okay, kid? You slip something into your Lucky Charms this morning?”

_Be cool_, Peter thinks, laughing loudly and pushing Tony’s shoulder gently with his hand. 

_Compliment him_.

“Oh my gosh, no. Tony, you’re so funny,” Peter smiles, letting his hand linger on Tony’s bicep. “Has anyone ever told you you’re so funny? And have you been working out?”

“Uh, yeah, look,” Tony begins, wheeling back his stool to put some space between them. “You’re weirding me out. Go upstairs and sleep off whatever you took or drank and come back later, okay? Okay.”

Tony stands and grips Peters shoulders with both hands to direct him out of the lab. Peter, losing any semblance of cool he had, feverishly protests that he wasn’t under the influence of any substances.

“I swear, I haven’t had anyth - “

“Shh,” Tony hushes, giving him a light push out the door. “No judgement here, you’re young, I get it. Just maybe try to limit any Asgardian herbs to the weekends, yeah? We good? Good.”

“But, wait –”

And with Tony’s command FRIDAY locked the doors shut and Peter was left wondering where exactly he’d gone wrong.

Sullen, Peter hadn’t gone back to a room and napped as suggested. In fact he’d gone straight home to lick his wounds and reassess all of his life choices.

—-

It was self care, he told himself that night as he marathoned back-to-back episodes of _Say Yes To The Dress_ whilst eating half-melted Stark Raving Hazelnuts straight from the carton with a plastic spoon.

Maybe mysterious just wasn’t Tony’s thing?

It made sense. Given his last long-term, moderately successful relationship was with Pepper Potts, who was nothing but direct and unapologetic. Tony was the same - abrupt and acerbic.

But that wasn’t Peter. Sure he was sarcastic and enjoyed trading barbs and sassing Tony out, but that wasn’t the same. Peter’s heart was always on his sleeve - he was never going to be cutthroat or cold. Not even for Tony.

So… perhaps he just had to think outside the box.

With a notepad and a sharpie, Peter complied all of his contingent plans into one hopefully explosive big bang he dubbed _Tony + Peters Big Bang._

With little self respect to lose, Peter went all out. He went shirtless in training sessions, dropped things excessively so he would have ample opportunities to bend over and present his ass, licked up icing from strategically placed cupcakes when the mechanic passed and made tiny moans of pleasure. He even bemoaned to Tony his single status and how it just _sucked_ to have no one to go home to.

Still, nothing.

Just weird fatherly pats on the shoulder and a total lack of interest.

Peter has dated before. He’s had serious and not-so-serious relationships with people he thought were out of his league but even then it was never _this_ hard to get a response.

Out of better ideas, Peter tried cooking. All the books said to prove to your intended that you are useful, that you can _provide_ and cater to their needs. 

Sure, Tony had a team of personal chefs and cleaning staff, but what if they were stranded on a deserted island somewhere or lost in the wilderness?

So, he let the internet teach him how to make a romantic dish.

But for all his prep he’d left the lasagna in the oven for too long, had the heat way too high and set off the fire alarms in a shrill screech that he made his ears ring the entire day. 

After retrieving the pile of charcoal from the oven Peter stuck to safer, creative endeavours. 

Keen on winning Tony’s heart Peter taught himself how to knit. He’d stayed up for four days straight furiously consuming Youtube tutorials, old clips from the eighties a perpetual stream in the background as his fingers tightly clutched the knitting needles, furiously threading skein after skein until he had completed a scarf.

Sure, the stitching was uneven and there were some holes and loose threads, but it had his heart in it and that’s what counted - right?

Tony had accepted the lumpy monstrosity with thinly veiled bewilderment and said, “Wow. Red and gold, thanks kid. You know it’s mid-June right?”

“Hah, yeah,” Peter had responded, crestfallen, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Just thought you might need it. Y’know. To keep you warm. In the lab.”

Tony draped the scarf over DUM-E’s long neck and said, “The lab is temperature regulated, but I appreciate it all the same. Now, what do you say, baby spider - want to blow some things up?”

He did, but it didn’t make him feel better.

—-

“You’ve been acting so weird lately,” Tony says later that night over carbonara and Pinot Grigio. “What’s going on with you, kid?”

Peter taps his fingernail against his wine glass, deliberating his answer.

He ends up simply shrugging, “Just guy trouble, y’know? It’s fine, you don’t need to worry about it.”

“I want to worry about it,” Tony dismisses. “Tell me, c’mon. Spill your guts.”

Peter exhales heavily, twirling his pasta half-heartedly.

“I just can’t get this one guy to notice me. Sometimes I think he’s interested but sometimes I just think he just wants to, y’know…”

“Be friends?” Tony guesses, smiling crookedly. 

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Tony considers him quietly, leaning back against the sofa cushions and sipping his wine. The mechanic nods to himself before answering, clearing his throat and straightening his spine.

“Well if he can’t see what’s missing then he doesn’t deserve you, Pete. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

_Not any guy_, Peter thinks but smiles anyway. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Anytime, kid.”

—-

“I don’t know what else to do,” Peter groaned, shoving a hot slice of pizza into his mouth. He wipes the grease off his lips and fingers with the hem of his shirt and glugs back a mouthful of room temperature beer. It doesn’t even taste good. It tastes like sadness.

“You tried the whipped cream thing, right?” Harry asks, scooping up ketchup with his fry.

Peter nods miserably.

“And?”

“Nada.”

“Damn, I thought that would work.”

So did Peter. He ate so much whipped cream around Tony that he gave himself a stomach ache.

“Maybe you should grow a beard,” Ned offers. “You do have a serious case of baby face.”

“Maybe,” Peter shrugs. 

“Or maybe you could write him a poem?”

“Eh, I’m not real good with that kinda thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s the thought that counts, bro.”

“Have you ever considered that whatever you do, maybe he’s just _not_ into you?” MJ cuts in.

Peter blinks. 

He hadn’t considered that, actually.

Huh.

But, well… it actually makes sense, if he’s honest. Shoulders slumping, Peter looks down at himself. His shirt is covered in grease and sauce smears, it’s stretched at the collar where he idly bites it. His socks have holes in them. The apartment he calls home is shitty, his job is shittier and he wouldn’t know style if it smacked him in the face. Peter doesn’t even get a plate out for his morning toast, he just eats it over the sink to catch the crumbs.

He’s not exactly a catch, is he? 

Peter knows, right. He’s aware that he’s not exactly anybody’s centrefold. No one is going to wax poetic or write sonnets about his plain brown eyes or his thin lips or his big ears. But… he thought _maybe_ that wouldn’t matter. If he was kind enough, smart enough, brave enough, it would make up for all of his other shortcomings.

Peter immediately feels very stupid. Who was he _kidding_? How could he have ever thought that some dumb guy who can barely pay his rent, who still has Star Wars figurines on his bookshelves would be enough for Tony Stark, the guy who literally saved the universe, the guy who has murals and altars in his name in nearly every city of the world.

“Aw, c’mon now,” Harry cajoles, “Pete’s a steal.”

MJ rolls her eyes, stabbing her salad with her fork. “Not saying he’s not. Just saying Tony Stark has bad taste.”

Peter smiles at that, but the cold, gritty feeling doesn’t go away.

——

The desolate mood lingers around him like a bad smell in the following days. Even his teammates pick up on it.

“Why so blue, chipmunk?” Bucky asks a couple of days later, flicking his cigarette ash over the balcony that overlooks the pool. There’s an impromptu pool party going on down there, the remainder of the Avengers lounging in the sun on the sun chairs, having water fights, drifting in the water and basking in the UV on inflatable donuts.

Peter raises his shoulders disinterestedly, leaning against the railing and trying his hardest not to look down at the party.

He’s been doing his best to avoid Tony all week. Between ‘missing’ his texts and keeping busy with his job, it’s been fairly simple to bypass any contact. It’s fine if Tony’s not into him, really, but Peter just needs some time.

Okay, it’s not like _fine_, fine, but Peter is coping. He just needs to get his feelings under control.

“Aw c’mon,” Natasha probes, “You’ve maudlin all week - what’s up, buttercup?” She offers him a commisaretory cigarette which he declines.

“Nothin’,” he sighs. “Just planning my future as a sad, single loser who is going to be forever alone.”

Natasha frowns. “Who said you’re a sad loser?”

“No one,” Peter mumbles. “Just a fact.”

Bucky elbows him. “That’s not true. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks. Not everyone though,” he gives in and peers down at the party below. Tony’s shirtless, reclined back on a lounge and drinking a margarita. 

Skin bronze and reflective red shades, he looks really fucking good. 

Dammit.

Natasha follows his line of sight, humming low in her throat in understanding. Bucky mirrors her, leaning his elbows on the railing to get a better look, locking onto the target with a quiet _oh_. 

“See, now you’re just being stupid.” Natasha says, taking a long drag of her cigarette, tipping her chin to exhale at the sky. “Stark’s fucking crazy about you.”

Peter snorts, turning around and so he doesn’t have to watch the sun kissing Tony’s skin. “Yeah, okay.”

She scoffs at him, her eyes rolling heavenwards. “I know what Tony looks like when he’s infatuated. Pete - that guy can’t keep his eyes off you, trust me.”

Peter shakes his head, not letting the precarious hope rising in his stomach ascend to his heart.

“It’s not - he still looks at me like I’m still a kid.”

“He looks at you like you hung the moon,” Bucky counters. 

Peter snorts, ugly and somewhat hysterical.

“I made him a coffee this morning and do you know what he said? ‘_Thanks, sport._’ Sport, Buck. People don’t call people they think hung the moon _sport_.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t know it yet,” Bucky offers. “Have you tried asking him out?”

“And subject myself to the inevitable, soul crushing rejection? Um, I don’t think so. I’ve tried everything, seriously.”

“Like?”

Met with expectant looks, Peter recounts in excruciatingly embarrassing detail exactly how he attempted and failed at wooing the man of his dreams, all remnants of hope utterly quashed the longer he speaks. It’s humiliating, knowing he’ll never add up.

“See?” Peter mumbles, heart dropping with his own inadequacy. He gestures to his own body. “Believe it or not, not everybody is dying to get all up on this.”

“Oh, Pete,” Natasha shakes her head, squeezing Peter’s shoulder with her free hand. “Firstly, you’re selling yourself short. And second, you’re forgetting the number one way to get Tony Stark’s attention.”

“How? I’ve already basically shoved my ass in his face. No bueno.”

Natasha lips quirk upwards. “Simple. The quickest way to get Tony to pay attention is to have someone else play with his toys.”

Peter blinks. “I don’t follow.”

Bucky and Natasha share an adoring look at each other.

“Make him jealous, chipmunk,” Bucky drawls, hanging his metal arm over Natasha’s shoulder. “Make him see what he’s missing. The thing about Stark is that he never knows what he’s got till it’s gone.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Peter protests.

“You could,” Natasha affirms, tucking a wayward lock behind his ears. “You’re a catch, Parker, you got this.”

“I don’t know –”

“We do know,” Bucky interrupts, slugging his other arm over Peter’s shoulders and hauling their sides together. 

“I just –”

“C’mon, we’ll go to that charity thing together next Saturday. Doll you up real nice. It’ll be a sure thing.”

Peter sighs. 

“Yeah, okay.”

His pride is already out the door and he’s pre-emptively broken his own heart - what’s he got left to lose?

—-

The week zips by with alarming speed and before he can even think about backing out of their plan it’s the following Saturday and he’s exiting a fancy sports car onto a red carpet.

Nervous, he ignores the photographers and journalists calling his name, offering a few weak smiles and waves. Once inside, Peter awaits anxiously at the ballroom entrance of the function, New York elite swanning before him like he isn’t just some guy who can barely afford proper food on a good week. The Gala in full swing already, music loud and the chatter louder.

Against it all Peter can’t tell if his tie is too tight or if the shortness of breath is just from the impending subterfuge. 

Even after his identity became mainstream news, these Avengers functions were never really his thing. The fundraisers, the benefits, the state funded parties. It’s a lot for a socially awkward guy who spent years behind a mask. Peter would much rather show up to these things in his Spider-Man suit than the black and white get-up he’s squeezed himself into for this event. 

“You look like you’re about to shit yourself,” Bucks drawls, winding an arm around Peter’s waist and leading him into the room. “Relax. We’re a very happy couple, remember? You got this.”

“Right,” Peter nods, scanning the room for his team-mates. Well, one team-mate in particular if he’s honest. Sinking into Bucky’s side, he melts into the proprietary embrace and pastes a bright smile onto his face. _Be cool_. 

He picks Tony out of the crowd in the far corner by the bar, surrounded by politicians and foreign dignitaries. With every polite tilt of his glass and terse smile Tony looks every part the socialite he was raised to be.

He spots Peter not a moment later, as if sensing the heat of Peter’s stare on him, a wide grin coming over his face as they make eye contact.

In the interest of playing it cool Peter nods cordially to his former mentor before reverting his attention back to the French Ambassador making small talk with his ‘date’.

But all the way back there Peter observes how the grin falters and Tony’s body freezes when he notices Bucky.

Their embrace leads to more than a few curious glances and not so subtle questions, which are parried with coy non-answers like, _it’s new, we’re figuring it out_ and _we’re just seeing where it leads_.

Tony catches up with them as they skirt towards the bar. Peter orders a round of Balkan 176 for them all, downing three of the shots nervously before passing the remainder.

“Wow,” Tony says, nodding towards the two of them. “Look at the two of you. You guys comfortable, you good?”

Without even looking Peter knows that Tonys eyes are drawn to the way the Bucky metal arm grips his hip and the high flush brushed on his cheeks.

“I think so. We good, doll?” Bucky asks, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The bristles against his sensitive skin sending shivers up his spine.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Peter affirms, belatedly remembering to play his part. He bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly at the soldier, trying his best to appear smitten and adoring. 

Except when Tony doesn’t say anything Peter laughs nervously, and can only hope the despairing snort comes off enamoured and captivated. 

“Uh, so yeah. Okay. This is new,” Tony comments, gesturing between them, champagne flute on the verge of spilling with the movements. “You just here as friends or have I missed the latest at TMZ?”

“You’ve missed the latest,” Bucky confirms, pressing a warm kiss to Peters jaw. “We kept it under wraps, y’know, figuring it out together.”

Tony nods to himself, sipping his champagne in the image of causal nonchalance. “Together, huh? Could have sworn you were still pining for Cap-on-Ice last week, Barnes. You move quick.”

Bucky shrugs, leaning in to nose at Peter’s cheek. The flush that spreads over Peter’s face doesn’t escape Tony’s attention if the set of his jaw is any indication.

“Things change, Stark. Sometimes you gotta let go of what’s not working and see what’s right in front of you.”

“James has been real good to me,” Peter inserts himself, locking eyes and pretending like he’s a love-sick fool. “It’s new. We’re playing it by ear.”

“I thought you were hung up on some guy.”

“Some guy wasn’t interested,” Peter replies bluntly. 

Tony’s big brown eyes alternate between the two of them, silent in his deliberation.

“Huh. Well, congrats or whatever,” Tony says finally after a moment, raising his glass to the both of them before downing its contents in its entirety. “Kudos. Salutations or something. Anyways, I think I hear Pep calling my name, how’s that. I’ll see you both?”

Peter nods, waving Tony off with a tilt of his shot glass, downing the clear fluid the moment Tony’s back is turned.

“Hook, line and sinker,” Bucky says under his breath.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

It’s easy to get lost in the politics and inane conversation that Peter could nearly ignore the looks that Tony sends their way throughout the night. Without his super hearing he could have easily disregarded the sound of grinding teeth when an upbeat song plays and Bucky guides him into some kind of Lindy Hop, Peter snickering at his own two left feet the entire time.

Despite his mirth Peter doesn’t miss the sour of Tony’s frown when he looks over to him, or the billionaires quiet stalk out of the ballroom entirely as he stares unblinkingly at Peter’s flushed face.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” he mumbles to Bucky when the song finishes, slipping out of the soldiers grip. He offers a wry smile at the concerned frown before he directs his steps towards the periphery of the ballroom

On his way he waves at Natasha, resplendent in a floor-grazing, teal jumpsuit, sharing a drink and a dance with Clint.

It doesn’t take more than a moment to find Tony down a hallway and onto an otherwise empty balcony, cradling a near empty glass of whiskey against his chest and peering out at the glistening city lights. 

The air is blissfully cool out here. It’s a relief from the stifling heat of the ballroom. He loosens his tie as he shuts the balcony door behind him, and with just the two of them out here, it feels like he can breathe for the first time all night. 

The tension in Tony’s back is visible even in the near dark. Peter doesn’t miss that or how Tony’s jaw subtly clenches when the older man notices his approach.

“Hey, kid,” Tony says, offering Peter a tight smile. “Having fun?”

“S’okay, not really my thing” Peter shrugs, knocking their shoulders together. “Are you having fun? You look a little tense.”

“Eh, not really feeling it tonight. Anyway, what are you doing out here?”

The words are casual but the way Tony refuses to make eye contact is anything but. He looks like a tightly coiled wire that’s about to spark and fray. For a moment Peter questions his welcome, already deeply regretting everything.

“Just needed some fresh air, uh, but I can go if I’m cramping your style?”

Tony waves him off with his free hand. “Not at all, Pete, I mean unless Barnes - sorry, unless _James _doesn’t mind?”

“Why would he mind?”

“Because you two are, y’know, whatever.”

“He’s not my keeper.”

“Right,” Tony drawls, sipping the last of his whiskey. “You don’t think he’s a little old for you?”

“Not really,” Peter says, settling his weight against the railing. “I kinda prefer older men to be honest.”

Tony snorts. “How old is old to you? Twenty-five? Thirty?”

“Going grey, preferably,” Peter says abruptly, annoyance and disappointment unexpectedly sparking in his chest. 

“Oh,” Tony blinks, fingers tightening around the glass. 

Maybe it’s the vodka that snaps something inside him, spreading his hands wide as he bitterly replies.

“Yeah, oh. Not everyone sees me as an infant. _Crazy concept,_ I know.”

“I, uh, did not know that about you.”

“What, that I prefer older men? Or that I’m old enough to be sexually active?”

Tony mutters, “Believe me, I _know_ you’re old enough.”

“Do you?” Peter queries, heart quivering as it comes to settle on the wire. “’Cause I gotta say, Tony, it really doesn’t seem like it. I mean, I’m not that fifteen-year-old you first met.”

“That’s not -” Tony rebukes, looking anywhere but at Peter. “That’s not how I see you. That’s not what I think of you.”

“It is,” Peter insists, stepping into Tony’s space. “I know you think you’re responsible for me.”

“That’s because I _am_ responsible for you.”

“No,” Peter shakes his head. “You’re responsible for _you_ and _I’m_ responsible for me. You’re not my dad, Tony, you’re not even my boss. You’re just some guy.”

“Pete -”

“Y’know,” he says, disappointed, “all I’ve ever wanted was for you to some day see us as equals. I thought one day you might see me as someone worthy of this,” he compounds, prodding Tony’s chest over his heart, “- you know what, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Peter, wait - “ Tony calls out when he turns around and heads for the balcony doors. 

Peter steadfastly ignores the call as his eyes begin to burn, hands trembling from where they are fisted at his sides. He’s just going to go back inside tell Bucky it was a bust and then he’s going to go home, get exceedingly drunk and eat all of his feelings. At least he’ll have half-dead Bonsai Bill for company - he never talks back.

He doesn’t get far before a hand on his shoulder is whirring him back around, Tony’s faces inches fro his own as he stumbles to gain his balance.

“What are you –”

“It’s not that I think you’re still a kid or that you’re too young,” Tony interrupts, eyes devastatingly vulnerable even in the dim lighting, hands squeezing Peter’s shoulders. 

“Then what is it?”

“It’s that I’m _old_, Pete. I’m old and I’m damaged and you - you’re this perfect thing and I look at you in ways that I shouldn’t.”

Peter steps closer, licking his lips as a tiny, renewed hope sizzles low in his belly. 

“What - what ways do you look at me?”

“Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Tony says quietly, a little sadly, his hand coming up to cup Peter’s cheek. “Like you’re funny and smart and sexy.”

“I…” Peter begins, heart pounding. “You think I’m sexy?”

The man laughs in that hollow, self-deprecating way he does. “Yeah. I know, right? I have to constantly remind myself to not be a fucking creep and back off, ‘cause there’s no way you’d ever look at me the same - that you’d never want that from me.”

“Are you crazy?” Peter blinks. 

All this time he’d been thinking Tony kept him at arms length because of his age. But it was Tony who had been insecure this entire time. Of course he did. It’s so quintessentially Tony to put himself down and soak in his own guilt.

“I’m sorry - “

“No - I mean, I’ve only ever wanted you,” Peter admits, turning to kiss Tony’s palm. “You’re the guy I’m hung up on. I’m fucking _crazy_ about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter affirms, Tony’s calloused fingers against his cheek making it hard to think. “Just ask anyone. Like, literally anyone.”

With trembling fingers he raises his hand to mirror Tony, cupping the older mans cheek, thumb stroking the crows feet that branch out towards his temples.

“It’s not just because of the grey’s though, right?” Tony quips, stepping closer until their chests brush, faces inches apart. Peter can hear Tony’s heart racing, feels the near imperceptible tremble of his hand where it rests against Peter’s cheek. 

“No,” he confirms, sliding his hand upwards to card through Tony’s hair. “But it’s a perk.”

“Speaking of perks,” Tony mumbles, his free hand sliding down to cup Peter’s ass.

“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay,” Peter interrupts, leaning in with enough time for Tony to object. Tony nods, moving forward and bridging the gap between them, stopping only millimetres from Peter’s lips.

“Hang on, wait,” Tony blinks. “What about Barnes?”

“Oh he is _not_ going to care,” Peter mutters, “Like, at all. Trust me.”

“Good,” Tony says, finally pressing his lips against Peter’s.

Peter shivers at the sensation of their lips moving together, the prickle of Tony’s beard on his skin. Peter draws back an inch, blinking, moving in again to capture Tony’s mouth in a series of short, sharp kisses. 

Winding his arms around Tony’s waist he prods at the seam of the older man’s lips with his tongue, slipping it inside Tony’s mouth when he obliges, the grip of Tony’s hands on his ass tightening, sending a tingle down his spine. The tingle progresses to a full shiver when Tony presses his kisses to Peter’s throat, his whole body failing to repress a shudder when Tony’s beard and teeth gaze against his neck.

“Were you jealous?” Peter asks, breathless as Tony continues his assault on his neck. “Were you jealous of me and Bucky?”

A line of hot, biting kisses makes him whimper as Tony kisses ascend the column of his neck until they reach his lips, and god, Tony is _really_ good at that.

“You have no fucking idea,” Tony mutters against his mouth. “Was that your plan all along? Trying to get me to see red?”

“Fuck,” Peter groans when Tony bites at his jaw. “Never thought you’d see me otherwise.”

“I always see you,” Tony assures, bites turning into apologetic kisses. “Even if you don’t know it.”

“Aw. You’re just a big ol’ sap, aren’t you?” Peter teases. “S’okay, I’m into that.”

“I’m into you.”

“Definitely seeing that now. Not to be too forward, but would you like to _get_ into me?”

Tony grins wickedly.

**Author's Note:**

> [I tumble](https://darker-soft-starker.tumblr.com/)


End file.
